After Math
by Cyanide Disaster
Summary: She made a choice, one of which everyone else couldn't find reason for. Now it's over, he's gone her mistake is gone too. But they are both alive. Now her life hang's by a string, will he come back for her or betray her they way he felt she did to him?
1. One

_A/N: This came to me in the middle of watching a movie. I needed to write it down. Personally, I think it's quite likely this would happen, mostly with a character made after me. Ha! Get ready for some smut filled, violence covered and profanity sprinkled story about the re-connection between Alistair and Cousland, with many returning Characters and a few new ones! _

_Please rate and review!_

_~*CN_

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Any place but here, and he would have been fine. Any other shit-hole and he's be fine. But alas, the one he followed had to go to the bottom of the barrel, and only stop moving during the dead of winter. The elf wrapped the cloak tighter about himself, shivers running up and down his spine. "_Braska!" _The Antivan swore as a gust of wind blew the hood of his cloak to snap his cheek.

Any other shit hole, he reminded himself, as he found the window he was… told about. His lithe fingers jarred the window open enough for the tiny elf to slip into the warmth of the room.

If only it had been warm. Instead, his leather covered feet touched down in a room no warmer than it had been outside. Then the stench hit him, oh dear Maker, the smell. It was a mix of piss, wet dog, the sorts of Alcohol that only Oghren would have drank and body odour.

He found the source of the smell almost immediately, well, it found him. It propelled the Elf to the side in a diving dodge. Around two-hundred pounds of muscle lunged for him sloppily, nearly throwing himself out the window. "Who the—Why are _you _here?"

The elf laughed, it was hilarious to see this man drunk. "I come on behalf of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, I seek an audience with you.

"I dun' care what the… the _bitch_ wants…" He was slurring so bad, Zevran almost wanted to knock the man out for his own sake.

"Now, my dear Alistair, you are being unreasonable—"

"Me?! _I'm _being unreasonable?! _She _accepted the man who got Duncan and the King _killed_ into the Wardens! And I'm unreasonable?"

Zevran ran a tanned hand through his long tresses of hair, holding back the sigh forming behind his lips. Taking a seat, cross-legged on the bed of a whore-house where he was arguing with a Bastard prince. The room was filthy, as was the man who had rented it, and been living in it. Alistair was dressed in a loose tunic that must have fitted him once; his face was dishevelled with hair and dirt, his eyes bloodshot from drinking, the tip of his structured nose a bright pink from the alcohol. "I beg you Alistair, merely listen to me."

His huff and the cross of his arms led the elf to believe he was free to speak. The fact he stopped stumbling about and looking as if he were about to knock poor Zevran's face off helped too.

Breathing in deeply, Zevran began: "You know what happened directly after you left, Loghain became a Warden, together with the pretty Warden they defeated the Arch-Demon – I was there –, Loghain died, she became Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens and all was happy, no?" Zevran was gouging his reaction, a wrinkle of relief seemed to lift off of Alistair's face at the mention of the only other Warden from the time during the blight being alive.

"Why are you here, Zevran?"

The grin that had been playing on his features died into something more serious, his eyes stopped their glittering and his hands folded on his thighs as he gathered himself to his feet.

"Because, Alistair, Emily Cousland is dying."

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_A/N: I realize it's short, but I'm just getting the ball rolling. ;)_


	2. Two

_A/N: Whoooo, second chapter. I have a few ideas, and yes, there will be a love triangle, I'm sorry, but Ander's is too awesome for me to ignore. Plus, Alistair deserves a little punishment after what he said to me in the Landsmeet. :*(_

_~*CN_

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Zevran had been expecting the swing of the meaty fist towards his face, so he quickly ducked down, snaking a foot out against Alistair's calf, knocking the big man onto his face. Jumping up, the elf straddled the man's shoulders, placing a blade against the back of his neck, sighing softly, making soft _tsk tsk _noises with his tongue. "Alistair, you needn't attack me."

"You lying, sneaky _fucking_ elf!" The man spat, slurring and trying to roll onto his stomach, and failing. Zevran dug his heels into the man's sides.

"Now, that may be true, but it does not mean it is polite. Be still my dear Warden," Alistair stilled under him, and he relaxed slightly. "You should rest tonight, and we shall continue our conversation when you are sober."

Alistair swung for the elf again, but he had danced his way out the window. Grumbling, the man reached for the bottle he'd been drowning his ever present sorrow in, to find it gone. "Fucking elf!"

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The next morning came too soon, the pain that accompanied his nausea made him want to throw himself from the cliffs in Highever—the thought of Highever made memories swim back into Alistair's mind.

_Her back was too him as she stood before her old home. Half crumbled in on itself, her cloak red as blood whipping about her body. Her gloved fingers graced the wooden door before her. The castle was empty of all humans, but the rumours of Darkspawn had brought them here. _

"_Stay—"_

"_No, we won't stay here, Emily." He remembered how to smile for her as she tilted herself back to seek his face. Drawing comfort from the golden eyes meeting her own white-blue ones. Swirling with the memory of this place. He stepped up to her, placing a hand on her small shoulder, fingers curling around her gently. "I promised you that I would be with you, always. I will cherish that promise."_

_Her smile flickered for a moment, before she waved a hand to their companions to catch up. Alistair, Sten, Shale and herself pressed their bodies against the wooden doors, frozen shut from the harsh winter. Finally, the ice shattered under the pressure, falling down to gather at their feet as they pushed their way in. The door groaning under the strain. An arrow was notched behind them as the doors finished, Leliana using her acute eyes to scout ahead for them. _

_Pushing into Highever with Emily at their front, hunched low behind her shield, Alistair couldn't help but feel that familiar tightness of arousal as he absorbed the look of her rear. Shaking back the feeling, they pushed in, before she collapsed to her knees, clutching a frozen corpse to her plated chest. A broken gasp collectively left them. They stood in the main courtyard; a frozen reminder of what Highever had looked the night of the attack, months ago, at the brink of winter. _

_Emily clutched the body, shaking it, whispering something unintelligible. His fingers touched her arm, causing her to jolt up to look at him, her eyes rimmed red with withheld tears. "Ser G-Gilmore…" She informed him, before clinging to the body once more. "My teacher, my friend… he loved me you know? And I left him to die. I should have made him come…" Wynne was there then, extracting Emily from the body. Zevran seemingly appearing from thin air. _

"_There are no Darkspawn here, no remnants of them either…"_

_Leliana piped in, her soft and gentle voice caressing over their skin like a song, "We shall burn the dead, it is what you do here in Ferelden, yes? We are here as it is, we should spend the time here properly."_

"_For once, I agree with the Bard," Morrigan added, scowling from behind the group, though her eyes were softer than he'd ever seen. She stared hard into the back of Emily, as she slowly rose to her feet._

_Fighting down the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her, Alistair could only watch as their leader nodded and began to collect the dead._

Groaning, the very hung over warrior rolled to his stomach, he was still on the floor, covered in a blanket that looked as if it was half-heartedly pulled from his bed. The stone below him had left his backside numb. Leaning against a bedpost stood Zevran, the cheeky elf keeping a level gaze with him. "You awaken finally."

"And here I thought it was all a nightmare."

Zevran scoffed, grasping Alistair by the scruff of his tunic, pulling him roughly to his feet. "No, the fact that your former lover, my friend—the Hero of your homeland is on her death bed is no joke, nor dream." Those words stung him, like a dagger into his ribcage.

"What do you expect me to do?"

The elf deposited clean clothing, a towel and a bar of soap into Alistair's arms and turned his back. "Clean and get dressed, you smell as bad as Oghren's backside on a good day, and look just as bad. Then, I will speak."

The bastard prince was getting sick and tired of the postponing of information, but hurried over to the bath that Zevran must've set up during the morning while he slept, thinking of better times, running around Ferelden saving the world and being the lover to the most amazing woman in the world.

Alistair gave himself a healthy cleaning before returning to where Zevran sat, slightly fidgety. His thicker brows shot up, the once rough stubble on his face was nearly a full grown beard, one that Oghren himself would have been proud of. "Speak, assassin."

Zevran sighed, placing something wrapped in a thick cloak on the unkempt bed. "Emily is dying, she may be dead for all we know, now." Alistair's eyes narrowed, "When she… fell ill… Emily had been starting a mission to find you, actually. It was a secret mission only within Vigil's Keep, she had wished to convince you to come back, as she'd convinced Anora to drop the charges on your head. For some odd reason, she was called to a Landsmeet in Denerim, while there, she fell ill. At first, it was a fever, but it escalated. She fell into a state that reminded Wynne of Arl Eamon's state during the Blight." The warrior stayed silent, and for that the Antivan thanked this Maker person.

Alistair's face fell, Emily had used the blood of the Dragon to defile the Ashes to gain powers. They could not save her now, though, after he'd learned what she had gained because of it, he forgave her, and they made a pact never to speak of it to Leliana.

The memories of her burned, mostly knowing she was dying, dying because of him. The anger he felt for her was still there, she betrayed him. "And why should I care?" His voice was much harsher than he'd thought it'd be.

The former Crow seemed to notice it, and seemed taken aback. "The Grey Warden's need their own Commander. You are the only truly Ferelden Grey Warden left, you must come back."

Rubbing his temples with a large hand, Alistair begged his headache to go away, he needed a clear head to think, though, this clear head would be the first in many months. "Why me?" His voice had dropped, cracking slightly.

Zevran paused slightly, he was treading on thin ice, "Queen Anora had made note she wished you to take Emily's place, were you to return."

His gut's twisted, and his face contorted. "I will go back, for Ferelden though. Both the daughter and the savoir of that slimy bastard can rot."

_Don't fool yourself, Alistair. _A voice, his voice, muttered in his head. This voice had been suppressed since the Landsmeet. _You want her back, you want her to beg for you forgiveness, that's why you return. _Battling with himself, Alistair took the package wrapped in the cloak and revealed it. Zevran was studying his expression as a magically preserved rose lain across a leather bound book with her name scrawled upon it was revealed to him.

_No. Not in the least…_


	3. Three

_A/N: Alistair is such an emo bitch. x3 The rating will go up in the next chapter, dreams are potent things. Hehe._

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The elf had wasted no time, they fled the tavern or brothel, whichever term tickled whomever's fancy. Alistair tightened the cloak around his body, thinner than during the blight, his hair long and trickling near his beard. Even though the harsh winter winds pushed them, they pushed on. They had two horses, big brutes. One – Zevrans—had rolls with tents on it's rear, food and money pouches dangling carefully, the other was saddled with the same holders, but Alistair had no such possessions. "I hope you brought two tents, I'd rather sleep on the ground in the snow than with you."

The elf seemed to have lightened a bit, a grin flashing over his features as he pulled his hood up, "Aye, friend. I brought a second tent, I am not as foolish as you'd believe, plus, these had been prepared for when the Wardens came looking for you."

From then on, Alistair was quiet, at least that day. It was hard to cope. Even through the snow, the sun was blinding and burning him through the thick layers he wore. That warmth he welcomed, even though it brought throbbing to his head. They travelled towards the shared border of Ferelden and Orlais, covering a good amount of land. Alistair vaguely wondered why they hadn't bought horses during the Blight. It would have been so much simpler.

The thoughts of the Blight made his mind wander as the two travelled along. He remembered their first meeting:

"_Get out of my way, fool!"_

_Alistair turned towards where the newest figure stood, short—probably Elven by the looks of it—and made a witty comment: "Isn't it wonderful how the Blight brings people together?"_

"_Oh, indubitably so," the figure returned, the pale skin that showed from under it's hood twisted into a smile. The voice was rather light, a little high even. Most definitely an elf. _

"_You know, we haven't had many Elves in the Wardens."_

"_And?" Was it's simple reply, the hooded figure tilting it's head._

_Alistair was shocked for a second, before the figure started to laugh. Muttering an apology and lowering it's—her—hood. Strawberry blond tresses were tied into a loose bun at the base of her neck, her skin a smooth ivory, a soft yet strong jaw, full thick lips pink with cold, a small button nose and large white-blue eyes. "M-my apologizes, M'Lady—"_

"_Oh dear Maker, not this bull again, really, call me Emily. You can even call me 'hey you', just not 'lady'." Though the woman was smiling at him, he could see the flicker of a deep sadness in her eyes. It was quickly smothered as she allowed her grin to widen, "I take it you are Alistair, Duncan spoke of you."_

"_I hope he didn't say anything bad," it was meant as a joke, but to Alistair's own ears it seemed more earnest._

_She seemed to catch the joke—he liked her, "Oh not too many things. He mentioned something about cheese, what can I say, I'm intrigued, cheese is a personal favourite."_

_If his smile got any wider his face would explode, he liked her all the more now, "Well, we should get a move on, Duncan is probably waiting, I promise to share my secret stash of cheese with you later, though."_

"_Deal!"_

A soft sigh left chilled lips as the memory slipped away like a leaf between fingers on a windy day. His once shimmering golden eyes flickered to the elf, who was getting himself down from his horse, motioning for Alistair to do the same. "Tonight we shall camp here, we are not a half day's ride from the border. Then we must cross Ferelden, does it ring of old times, friend?"

Alistair was never as dumb as he let on, he knew Zevran knew this. The assassin was stretching out a figurative hand to the man, wanting to made amends, help him. The thought of reconnecting the friendship was indeed temping, he could not lie. But her words rung in his minds, making his chest close down on itself.

"_I hereby conscript Loghain Mac Tir into the Grey Wardens."_

A snort issued forth from Alistair, "I don't think any of you have right to call me friend." Even in himself he flinched. Zevran sighed, but Alistair knew the sneaky elf would not give up that easily.

The elf continued to speak though, of 'old times' travelling across Ferelden, he seemed to bring _her_ up more than he should have. The got their tents up, and the bastard was tempted to just head straight into the thin confines of the tent. Instead, the smell of the stew Zevran was concocting allured him to stay. When he settled down, he sat across the fire from Zevran, trying to soak up details.

The man was different than he remembered, there were more lines on his face, his grins were less lurid and less frequent. But his chatter was much the same, though; it seemed his accent was even failing slightly. As he stirred the pot, he began to explain the past few months, had it really been nearly a year? Alistair had to snap back to hear his words: "So when I returned from Antiva, she and the dwarf had drunk themselves into a haze, the pair of them were singing some song about dwarven women, if I do remember correctly. Then this mage tripped onto the Warden and they all burst into laughter, though, she did not seem all happy. I made my presence known to them then, with all their weapons out, Emily did that walk, you know the one, where she sways her hips with her hands resting on her rear? Oh yes, all the way over to me, before passing out on me."

The Antivian chuckled, "thankfully for me, the Dwarf recognized me through his drunken stupor, and called the Howe off—"

"What?!" Alistair was bewildered by the last name.

"So you have been listening… hrm yes. She seemed to have taken in the eldest Howe, Nathaniel was his name? Quiet brooding type, that one. Then there is Anders, he actually reminds me of you," Finally that lurid grin returned, "except with less muscle and more magic. Then there is Oghren, you remember him. He's a Warden now. There were those other ones, Sigrun a Legionnaire; if only she were human… then the bitter elf, Velanna. And… an undead named Justice. And that's only the Ferelden Wardens."

Alistair felt Zevran's gaze, knowing he must look incredibly silly with that expression.

"Oh, and Lieutenant Tucker. He is her second, your second, when we get there. Now eat."

Being the same Alistair he'd always been, trying to absorb too much, he wandered back into his tent after his full of stew, nearly three times more than Zevran ate. Why was there such a lack of description on this Tucker person? Alistair wondered this as he fell into his first sober drink since the Landsmeet.


	4. Four

_A/N: Yaaayyy, I almost feel bad for him. But not really. It's his fault, he'll have to stick to his own hands for now I guess. –pouty face-_

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It had been one week now, one week since he'd had a drink, one week since he'd been wallowing in self-pity, one week since he'd been content just being absorbed in anger. One week since the bloody elf showed up at his door. They were still riding; the tension in the air had lazed for the both of them. Zevran filled the silence with his chatter, talking about Antiva, the Wardens, Leliana, Wynne and Shale even.

"So, have you looked at the book yet?"

The question made Alistair rise his head up from it's near lolling state, "Hrm? Oh, I looked at it. It looks like paper work—"

The elf looked a bit pleased. "It is all the information she had collected since becoming the Arlessa." They fell into an easy silence, the offhand comment being thrown into the wind.

A familiar feeling roused in Alistair as he noticed cliffs, a busy looking and sounding castle not far off. "Is that Highever?"

"Indeed, we shall stay there tonight. A bath is in order." Zevran seemed pleased with himself. It was something _she_ would have thought of. And so, the duo headed up towards the castle precariously placed on the cliffs overlooking ocean. The flashback of the last time he'd been here physically hurt his chest. But they headed up anyways, to be greeted by a set of guards, demanding their named.

Zevran allowed his hood to fall back, his lustrous blond hair catching as much attention as the swirling tattoo on his dark cheek. "Zevran Arainai, friend of Lady Cousland." His voice was still obviously allowing suspicion, but the guards opened the gate.

It was nothing like he remembered; first of all, ice didn't layer the ground. The courtyard was a green expanse around the main hall, where they were being led, removing themselves from their steeds. The hall itself was alight with dancing flames, tapestries drawn down the sides of the walls between statues of armor. There were two large throne like seats at the end of the hall, where a man sat, his hair was dark, almost black. A thin layer of stubble layered his strong jaw and chin, looking both Zevran and Alistair up and down a few times.

"Greetings, Teryn Cousland," Zevran drawled, giving the man a lopsided grin.

They seemed to be friends or something, because the man got to his feet and clapped his hands together, his voice was booming and resounded in the room. The same tone Emily had had. A twinge of pain his Alistair. "Ah! Dear friend of the Couslands, what brings you here? Is there news of my sister's illness?" Alistair had tried to stay out of sight, with his hood drawn, "who is this you bring with you?"

"Ah, of course, how rude. This is Warden Alistair, the man who is to take your sister's spot until she gets better." The word choice was picked carefully.

Oddly enough, Alistair found himself liking the man. "Ah, the Therin one, right? Good to meet you, I am Fergus Cousland." A grin formed on his lips, one so much like the one Emily possessed. "I hope you've heard as much of me as I have you."

"Yes, My Lord, she spoke of you often." Alistair found his skin crawling at speaking about her like he was, how long had it been since he'd seen her? Let alone spoken to her.

The Teryn must have noticed his discomfort, because with another clap of his hands, he was apologising, "You must've been on horseback for days. Allow my servants to show you to some rooms, and have hot baths drawn." The elven servants seemed to appear out of no where.

As the pair were lead deeper into Highever, he noticed how many elves were actually under Cousland control. And he also noticed how fed they looked, how happy they seemed; for servants.

"Here you are, Ser Arainai, your usual quarters." The first elf spoke, she was a young girl with nothing special about her. Though, Zevran was all over that. Alistair managed to hide the rolling of his eyes as he himself was led away.

"Your room, Ser."

"Thank you," his polite nature hadn't left. Though, as soon as he deemed suitable, Alistair closed the door, latching it closed and heading towards the bath that had been drawn. The steam touched his face like a gentle caress, and he found himself relaxing visibly.

It took no time at all for Alistair to be nude and in the water, a gentle sigh leaving his lips as he sunk into the water. His eyes drifted closed as more memories bombarded his mind.

_The pyre's lit the night sky as the group stood outside the courtyard in a slightly awkward silence. One by one, they disappeared into the stone walls of the castle. Each had decided a bed would be nice for once, even if they had once belonged to their leader's dead family. Some things were needed. She agreed._

_Finally, it was only them. Alistair touched her arm softly, feeling her tighten from under her armor. For the first time since the fires began, she looked at him. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, her lip trembling under the pressure of holding them back._

_A moment later his arms were open, and she was in them. Broken sob after gasp for air raked her body as he held her. It took nearly an hour for her to calm, the fires were finally out, smoke filled the sky, now black with night. The moon only a sliver of light. "Come Emily, let us warm ourselves by the hearth." Alistair tried to coax her._

"_N-no… tonight I want to be alone. Well…" In the first time in what felt like an eternity, she smiled at him. Her beauty was exquisite, even though her face was lined with grime, blood, tears and sweat. "Alone other than you."_

_His lips were chaste on hers, and she returned the blessing. His fingers sought hers, their cold gauntlets squeezing against each others. The both of them walked passed Sten, Shale and Morrigan, all around the hearth, warming their hands and speaking in hushed voices. Emily was pulling him along gently, leading him towards the well, gathering water into the half destroyed buckets Emily gave him a smile. "I am in need of a bath." She explained, he was rather perplexed. Pushing two full buckets into his arms, Emily herself gathered two and she sauntered off towards her old room. _

_He watched as she purposefully avoided looking at the room she had explained as hers. There were blood spots on the floor still, obvious on the stone. _

_Her parent's room had been untouched, and so, that was where she led him. Starting the fire in the hearth, laying the buckets down and peering about. Alistair tried to take in the sight of the room, but his eyes were always drawn to her form. Her small shoulders set in a stubborn line, her armor dented and stained in the right places to accent her natural curves. "Maker, you are beautiful."_

_His comment was met with a little grin. _

_In complete silence – her most frequent fall back as of late – she drew her own bath, the steam filling the room._

_He was always drawn into wonder watching her undress herself. Her armor would bounce off the stone floor almost carelessly, piece by piece revealing the goddess-like form usually encased in metal. And there it was, the woman he loved, nude in the flickering candle light. Emily turned to him, raising her brow at him. "Why are you still clothed?" The innocent tone in her voice always caught him off-guard._

_The blushing, former templar released himself from his confines, standing naked as the day he was born. Alistair watched her eyes flicker over his body, taking him all in, "Mm, a little happy to see me?"_

_Arousal beat out embarrassment, "I'm just awestruck by your smile. Is it bad that that alone can get me all… excited?"_

_He tried so hard to get the lusty voice going the way she could, but it didn't seem to work. His voice merely lowered and went husky, but her shudders must have been good, right? "Matters who you are asking."_

"_I'm asking you."_

_Her smile reached her eyes, her lips coming to rest on his chest, well… all over his chest. Her hands doing things that made his vision swim. "Then yes." It was all the encouragement he needed. _

_Alistair was a big man, strong, tough and quite the lover – or so she told him – and he enjoyed using this to his advantage. So, pulling the female Warden into his arms, he nuzzled his face into her neck, stalking over to the bath and slipping into it. A pleased groan left him, from both her hands ministrations and the warm water._

_She shifted, spinning to face him, the water came to rest right below her bust. And Alistair's hands covered all else. His face went to her throat, finding the delicate spot between her shoulder and throat, wriggling his tongue into the nerves, causing her body to spasm above him._

"_I love you Alistair." Her voice sounded in his ear as she lowered herself on him, her wet warmth surrounding him completely---_

Alistair woke from his dreams quickly, a jolt coursing through his body. He was almost embarrassed to find his own hand around himself. But sadness prevailed. His chest was heaving from the tension that had been there. He made sure to scrub that hand extra hard before getting out of the soiled waters.

It wasn't long before Alistair fell into a slumber once more. His dreams filled with sweet memories and haunting monsters.


	5. Five

_A/N: It's been a while. For which I apologize. Anywho, just a little to get me started again. Please R&R.\_

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The duo spent two days in Highever, getting themselves back to their proper state of mind. Zevran flirted with anything that moved while Alistair stepped between deep sadness and a flicker of his old self. Sometimes, a joke or two even came through. The assassin made note of the mood swings.

But, the day came when they had to leave. Early morning covered their trail with a thin fog, the grass on the sides of the road wet with dew and the morning song of the birds. "Ah, fresh air. Should only take a week more before we are in Redcliff, where we once more will make a stop. I have news for the Arl from Amaranthine, which… I should have gave him on the way to you, but decided you were much more important."

"I'm almost flattered," Alistair managed to respond, his eyes half closed from another night with no sleep. Only images of her and him together riddling his thoughts.

"You seem distracted, dear Alistair."

"Tired. Too early to be travelling."

"Really? I remember you being the morning one." The crows laugh was quiet, muffled by his cloak. "Then again, after you and our dear Warden made your appreciation for each other notable, I do believe you stopped being so… 'perky' in the morning, at least to us."

Alistair didn't even try to defend himself, only grunting into his hands. No matter how hard he had been trying to block out those memories he could remember them clearly. The long nights rolling around in his tents without a care in the world except one another. Then the quick, giggle-filled mornings, hell-bent on hiding their lovemaking. How just the sight of her skin would send chills down his spine and how her hair fell just perfectly around her soft shoulders. Shoulders of which he'd probably marked with his mouth in the throws of passion…

The former templar shuddered before sinking back into his saddle. "How much longer before we get to the Keep?" He grumbled.

His query received a chuckle, "First we go to Redcliff, Eamon will be happy to see you. Spend a night or two there. Secondly we head to Denerim to get the Queen's approval for you, and then finally, we head back to the Keep." The assassin tapped his lips with a thin finger, "We may possibly go to the tower, see if we can bring a few fresh healers to the Keep for the pretty Warden's sake."

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A wave of guilt washed over Alistair as he sunk into his depression as the rode.

This aura of melancholy only increased as they inched closer to his old home. Scenario after scenario ran back the backs of his eyelids. Night after night. Sometimes Arl Eamon would run to him and embrace him, sobbing apologises, and asking him to stay for forever. Other times the same Arl would scream for Alistair's head on a pike, refusing to listen to his pleadings. One even had the Arl simply look at him and welcome him like a stranger would.

All of them hurt equally.

As the sun rose past the tree-line on the last morning, the constant waves of guilt slowly drowning Alistair rose to an all-time high. For as the two on horses moved towards the village he had once saved, he could clearly see the construction of a statue. It was a woman. In a pose that could rival Andraste's pose. Except she was in full battle armor and wielding her long sword offensively. As the statue of Emily rose, Alistair's hopes plummeted.

"She's going to die, isn't she?"

He barely heard himself speak, but by the swivel of Zevran's head, he spoke loud enough. Perhaps it was just the blood rushing between his ears, nearly forcing tears from his eyes by the pain. For once, the elf seemed not to have anything to say back. His shoulders sagged, face drawn in pain. "I truly hope not."

Alistair merely grunted as they came near to the bride leading out to Redcliff castle. As they had expected, there was a group of Knights outside the gate. One of which Alistair remembered vividly; Ser Perth.

"_What should I call you then, M'Lady?"_

"_Oh, well… Emily would be nice. Or even Warden Emily would be better than 'lady'." Her giggle had roused him from his little day-dream. His imagination working like mad to try and figure out what these night terrors were. But his eyes were drawn to her form, the most relaxed he'd seen her in days. One hip popped out to the side, a hand resting on the curve. Her other hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her helmet tucked under her helmet and a gentle smile on her soft-looking lips._

"_Alright then, Warden Emily," the man was too obvious, even to Alistair. He was leaning much closer than he had to. Trying his best to touch her without looking too eager. This Ser Perth was trying to be sweet and suave. Attempting to woo Emily…_

_And it seemed to be working. At least, he assumed so by the gentle pink on her usually pale skin. "So, Ser Perth, we have some time before nightfall—"_

_A grin lit up the Knight's face faster than he could draw his sword. Alistair noticed how her body stiffened at being cut off. "What do you suggest we do?" The man even had the gall to touch the side of the woman's face, even though she rolled her blue-white eyes, she kept a smile. _

"_I was going to suggest you tell me what the situation is like in town before the attacks, when the Arl was sick."_

_His face visibly fell, and Alistair cracked a smile before returning to his day dreams._

Trying to keep his usually over-emotional face impassive, he rose behind Zevran to the gates, where the men didn't even ask any questions, merely opening the gates.

Arl Eamon stood on the top of the stairs, a smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. Eyes with more crows feet than Alistair remembered being there. The little amount of hair left and the growing mass of hair on his face were streaked white through the grey. The Arl wore his doublet and leggings as he always did, bright flashy colors that represented Redcliff. Oranges, reds and pinks with golden trim, he looked quite good for an aging man. Beside him was his Orleasian wife, dressed in similar colors, her once soft brown hair streaked with grey. On Eamon's other side stood Teagan, wearing the colors of his Bann. His smile more welcoming than Eamon's and… at least existent in comparison to Isolde.

"Welcome Zevran, and welcome Alistair! Welcome back, I should say," Arl Eamon hurried as fast as his aging and heavier body would carry him down the steps towards the two on horses as they dismounted. The Arl's arms wrapped around Alistair as the elder man whispered another 'welcome back.'

To say he was taken back would be a little of an understatement. Alistair was absolutely bewildered. First of all, Arl Eamon embraced him in front of an audience! Second of all, Arlessa Isolde hadn't spoken a word to him (always a welcomed feat). And third of all… he was actually welcomed.

For the first time since he entered the Landsmeet all those months ago, he felt as if he was a part of something.

And as his mind turned to that area of his life, a hole was ripped into his heart, remembering her speaking the words that destroyed his world. Ripping her from him… or should he say, throwing himself from her? Confusion mixed with his guilt and hurt.

But, the former templar pushed away the angst and clung to his original family for the time being. Almost completely forgetting about the elf smiling softly, following behind them.


	6. Six

_A/N: Wow… I've really slacked off lately, eh? Oops._

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"It's such a shame you cannot stay any longer," the young woman cooed into Zevran's ear, her tiny hands clasped onto his forearm. Alistair fidgeted noticeably, attempting to keep his face stoic. _Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes…_ he repeated mentally. Zevran's smooth laugh and gentle patting made the woman unlatch from him.

"A shame, maybe. But there is no shame for how we spent our time here, yes? I will return, my dear lady." His accent seemed to be what wooed them, Alistair noted, too edgy to think about anything but the _now._

Denerim was next. Denerim… the place he lost everything, where he was exiled, all of it. For now, Alistair focused on the way Zevran picked up woman as a distraction. "Really? Do you promise?"

It was nearly sickening. "Of course, my dear. I promise I will return." One cat-like smile and he was on his horse. As smoothly as physically possible. A little less graceful mount and Alistair too was on a horse.

"Goodbye, Zevran…" Her girlish giggle was all that Alistair focused on as Zevran led them from the stables. A small snort left him at the irony. He lived here for years when all he wanted was to be someone. Now, when he was someone, all he wanted to do was to curl up in the hay loft and hide from the big mean world. Oh, how people change.

The two paraded themselves through the village, taking the scenic route up to the bridge, where the knights – including _Ser Perth _– were waiting with the family. A brief goodbye and a promise to visit and they were off.

The three day visit felt more like a week-long visit into his past. His past before _her. _He caught up with Eamon about Ferelden, while the questions about his whereabouts were notably ignored, which he had to admit was nice. The Arl was accommodating, providing both information and entertainment.

Apparently, since his departure and the end of the Blight the darkspawn had set up a new goal. One that Eamon knew only little about, from Emily. They had divided into two factions that were at war. Like the born hero she was meant to be, Emily slaughtered them in countless numbers and something happened and now everything was fine. Though, darkspawn were still threatening the area's and the Warden's needed to be ever vigilant.

As the days flew by and Denerim approached steadily on the horizon, Alistair began to wonder about the illness Emily was suffering. Though, he couldn't out and say that. No, that'd be too easy, and be much too complacent.

So, one evening while eating the lamb stew Zevran had prepared – he was a very good cook, but still Alistair watched everything – he questioned the Elf. "So… tell me more of what has happened with the Wardens."

He ignored the small, almost unnoticeable grin on the Assassin's face, "Well, after the Blight ended there was a ceremony, a funeral for Loghain. After that, Wynne, Shale and Sten left on a boat, the Qunari back to home and the women left for Tevinter. Me, the Warden, Leliana and Max left for Highever that evening, after the party in her honor. Morrigan had left on the night before the battle after harsh words she and the Warden shared. Oh, we accompanied Fergus back to Highever too. When we got there we spent time helping rebuild and reconstruct, then Leliana left back to Orlais."

Zevran paused for a long moment, as if trying to recall the order of things. "After the bard left, we continued to help her brother, until a missive from the First Warden came, announcing her as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. A lovely young woman, much younger than the Warden and so much more innocent came to collect her and bring her to Vigil's Keep – where we are headed – to meet the Orlesian Warden's stationed here. I stayed in Highever for a while longer.

"But, as I was told when she arrived there was no welcoming party, and the Keep was being attacked by darkspawn, she quickly dispatched them, finding an apostate mage – that Ander's man – and Oghren in the Keep. There was a talking darkspawn that they killed. Right as that happened the Queen appeared at the Vigil's gates. They spoke to her briefly, conscripted the mage and then did the "Joining"." The Elf smiled at Alistair, a little reassuring smile.

"All but the woman survived, so I'm told. Later that evening while the other two were resting she conscripted the Howe, who has turned out to be quite loyal, now that things are set straight in his mind. Hah, it's nearly funny to think about. Apparently at one point he tried to sneak into her room to kill her," Alistair felt his muscles tighten in anger. Zevran was almost as good a story teller as Leliana, "instead, he found her nude on top of her blankets, dead asleep. From what Oghren tells me it was quite the interesting night. I believe he said, ahem," he took on a deeper voice, mocking Oghren's gruffy tone, "'The sodding nug-humper came back into the common room, his face more red than the fire, his armor looking a tad too tight on him too. Har har.' Those were his words not mine.

"It wasn't long after when I arrived, you already know how that one went. Weeks passed and Leliana returned. During our stay at the Keep the Warden was taken by this "Architect", one of the talking darkspawn who had ordered the attack on the Keep. When she returned, she returned with an Orlesian rogue, Warden Russell Tucker. Quite the fellow he is, tall man, dark hair, bright green eyes, and," Zevran seemed reluctant to say it, "Nearly better than I with women."

Alistair laughed at that. A loud, belly laugh that left him gasping. Left him stunned he had laughed that hard. But man did it feel good! He felt as his a small weight resting on his chest was lifted, even through the prospect of an other man constantly around Emily should worry him, he felt… good. The humor in it was not lost on him.

"We ought to sleep now, Zev. We've got a long ride tomorrow; perhaps you will indulge me again tomorrow night." With that, he crawled into his tent, where he slept well for one night.

* * *

Morning came, and morning went. As did the nights, as well. A week and a half passed and they were at the Gates of Denerim, the same gates he'd cursed at, and sworn he'd never seen again. A wave of emotion rained down on his body, now more full than when Zevran found him, clean-shaven and tidy. Even his armor was pristine. The splintmail was like a second skin on him. Heavy enough for defense yet light enough for movement.

The gates were currently open, and he and Zevran joined the crowd of people rushing into the city to set up their shops, it was sun-up. Men, women, carts, and horses were a never ending stream into the city. Simply following their current led them to the Market district, where they grabbed a fresh fruit for something to eat while they slowly rode towards the castle.

They were meeting Queen Anora officially, so it was to be held in the Landsmeet chamber. As they grew closer, the invisible hand on his insides tightened. He closed his eyes as his horse instinctively followed Zevran's.

_She stood over the older man, his sword down, arm's raised. "I surrender, I surrender. You… you are indeed powerful. I have… underestimated you."_

"_Yes, yes you have," She whispered, Alistair was close enough to hear her, as was the man kneeling before her. His eyes locked with hers and they seemed to be conversing without speaking. _

_Anora's voice shrieked from the side of the chamber, "Do not kill him Warden! I beg of you, his crimes have been many, yes, but he does not need to die—"_

_Riordan spoke next, "It does not have to be this way."_

"_What..?"_

"_Allow Loghain to join the Warden's, we are too few as it is…" His voice drifted off, as if slightly uncertain of this himself._

"_No! Absolutely not!" he shouted, causing Emily to jump a little. "This… this man killed our King, he killed Duncan! I will _not _be his brother!"_

_Emily was chewing her lip then, a nervous habit she had, her fingers fiddling with the plate of her armor. "I… I…" She seemed stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her face turned, her helm lay on the ground, forgotten, her eyes as white as hot embers, tinged blue with sadness as she stared into Alistair's face. Her expression begging him to listen. Only his face twisted in disgust. _

"_You…" He couldn't speak, he could barely hear her speak over the pounding of blood in his ears. _

"_For Loghain's crimes he is to be conscripted into the Grey Warden's, to become what he very nearly destroyed. He will server under me, he will not be our General." Alistair noticed her pointed stare at Anora, had they spoken of this already? Rage ran through his body._

"_No! No! I refuse to be his brother! If he is to become a Grey Warden, I will no longer be one!"_

"_Alistair, please…" Now, reliving the memory, he was almost compelled to listen._

"_No!" His yelled, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "Make your decision Emily, it's me, or him. I cannot be the brother of the man who killed Duncan."_

"_Alistair, please listen, I have a—"_

"_A plan? Fuck your plans, Emily. So much for it all, was everything we had a _plan _too? Goodbye, Emily." With that, the man turned, and then the voice of the harpy sung._

"_If you leave now, you renounce the throne," Anora nearly sung. _

"_Take it, take the fucking throne, you won't see me again, ever. I renounce my claim on it and I will leave Ferelden, tonight."_

_Alistair turned, only enough to see Riordan and Emily. He stood tall, almost proud of his actions, while tears leaked from her eyes. She was a strong woman, she almost never cried, he noted now. He had made her cry. that moment was soon erased by alcohol though, a good enough solution for him.  
_

With the memories came the guilt. With the reawakening from his nightmare came the sight of the cause. Before him was the Palace. It was a large expanse of stone, fashioned to be strong under the harsh weather of Ferelden winters, green grass and fresh flowers came from the Garden's to either side of the courtyard they were trotting up to.

And then, from the grand entrance came the Queen and her entourage, with a flourish. Anora, Queen Anora hadn't changed, her skin was taunt still, hair tied too tightly and, her face painted to try to look naturally beautiful. A snake's smile twisted her face. "Greetings Zevran Arainai, and greetings to you as well, Warden Alistair Theirin."


	7. Seven

_A/N: Thank you for the review! :3 Please note, they help me write faster, give me a little boost. 3 In this one, I'm switching the POV, wont tell you who though. ;)_

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Shifting uncomfortably on the large wooden chair, he tried to keep himself interested in what was going on around him. Instead, his vision kept moving around to stare at the walls, counting the stones that confined him in this place. The wooden framed paintings staring back at him, scolding him for not paying attention. His feet were barely touching the ground as he stared out into the crowd of nobles in the Keep. The Seneschal Varel guy stood in front of the crowd, like she used to. Waving his hands as he spoke, taking over her job running the place, while the uncomfortable man in the chair had been left in charge of the people.

A shuffle made him tilt his head slightly, the rest of the Warden's looked as uncomfortable as him, each for their own reason. They now numbered thirteen with the loss of Justice, who had decided his time was up, and the body of the man he was using needed to be returned to the widow. A noble thing, even he agreed.

Velanna, the Dalish elf, stood in the furthest corner from the group of human nobles, scowling at whomever sent a glance her way. He almost felt sorry for her, but the alcohol ever present in his body made that near impossible, so he snickered at her dismay. It was her own fault they treated her like a whore, she was quite scantily clothed. And had a beautiful ass.

The Legionnaire Scout Sigrun stood near Nathaniel Howe, the eldest son of the traitorous bastard Rendon Howe. The two seemed emerged in a deep conversation about techniques they used to do… rogue-y stuff. The dwarf on the chair couldn't care less, as long as one of the two got the job done.

Tucker was standing stoically in his assigned position, his eyes only shifting to watch the proceedings with a dull unease that seeped from him. They all had better things to do, but it was required that they were all there. Beside him stood another Warden, a newer recruit. At each entrance, all three of them from the throne room, were at least two Wardens. Tucker and the new one, a city elf who was scary good with a bow, were stationed at the entrance leading into the rest of the Vigil. An older recruit and another newer recruit were stationed by the other entrance to the Keep, a wide scary looking human with a two handed sword to mock Sten's and a silent dwarven woman covered in weapons.

The last four almost unnoticeable Wardens stood at the main gate. All four were human, one was a woman, but not quite the looker that the Commander was.

Last was Ander's, who stood to the right of Oghren's chair, his fingers fiddling constantly. Going from pocket to pocket, then through his hair, then to the chair and back into a pocket. His eyes flickered towards the Commander's chambers. He and Velanna had been the ones taking care of her. Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head from the mage's robes to mewl in the dwarf's ears softly.

He had to admit he had a soft spot for the little kitten.

Seneschal Varel finally kicked the nobles out, claiming they had things they needed to do. Oghren muttered something about the bloody elf hurrying up. "Warden Oghren, thank you for staying awake this time around," Varel spoke in his deep voice, causing the dwarf to crane his neck up to nod gruffly at the man.

"I nearly didn't make it there." He said, watching the Warden's all relax as the cooks brought out the food. Everyone stayed to eat, including the ever-twitchy Anders. Pulling what one would assume to be a skin of alcohol from the confines of his armor, Oghren took a swig. "But I did."

Taking his place at the head of the table, the Dwarf stood on his chair to bring attention to himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw his Felsi holding their child in a corner. _Had she been there the whole time?_ He wondered, stifling the smile that threatened to break onto his face. Clearing his throat all the Warden's and even the guards of the Vigil who now ate with them stood.

"For long nights we've sat in here wondering what has happened to the Commander. But tonight, we do not. Tonight, we drink in her name and toast to get her healthy, ya' hear? In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Now, drink!" After his little heart-warming speech the Wardens all let out a cheer, and dove into their food and drink.

As Oghren finished eating, Felsi came over, her hair tied back like he remembered. Her eyes warm and inviting, their babe bundled in her arms. "You haven't drank too much I hope, you sodding bronto-turd?" Her tone was light and joking, the insults they flung at each other only their versions of foreplay almost.

"Only enough to think you pretty," he grinned and belched a little. It was true, Oghren was cutting down on the booze, both for the Commander and the promise he made to her about his family. He curled a plated finger under the baby's chin, tickling her lightly. They hadn't named her yet, but they had an idea in mind. But, until the Commander awkened they were unable to ask it, so for the time being, the little couple called the child 'Baby'.

"Well, if you're done trying to out drink your subordinates, we should head to bed." She spoke softly, trying to keep that easily flaring temper under check as she urged him to sleep. Sighing, Oghren got from his chair, nodded goodnight to the remaining Warden's who were drinking themselves into a stupor and headed to bed.

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"Stupid dwarf, drinking to one's health implies they are in good health," muttered the blond in robes, his hair tied loosely behind his head, sloppily done, body worn with lack of sleep. He'd spent night after night watching over her, healing her periodically, as if it'd help. Which it wasn't. Velanna covered day shifts, and he night ones, but he still had to be up by noon to do his Warden duties, so, in the end, Anders got the short end of the stick.

Pulling himself up the stairs towards the main bedrooms where the elder Wardens stayed, including everyone who had been involved with the Architect, he headed towards the 'master bedroom'. It once belonged to Rendon Howe, but now it belonged to the woman who killed him. As he opened the door, he was surprised, per normal, at how the room looked.

She had a very good sense of style, he had to admit. Against the far wall was a large four-poster bed with a thin veil of red silk hanging over for privacy, it had been that way since Nate had walked in on her. A small chuckled washed over his body at the memory. The walls were lined with paintings, many she'd done herself when she was awake…

Her illness was a strange one. When she first become sick she had been raked with fever until she fell into a coma-like state. Not two months ago, little time after Zevran, the close companion to the Commander, left she awoke with a start. Gasping for air as if she were drowning, her body sweating and muscles freaking. She had looked as if she was pulsing, before she fell back into her silent sleep. Sometimes he had to double check she was still breathing. It had been nearly five months since she'd gotten sick and her heart was getting weak. Now, every once and a while she would wake from her state and start talking, get up and move around, but her eyes were blank and she would not speak _to_ any-body.

During these sleepwalking periods she had three types of experiences. The first was rage, she would scream, inflict pain on herself, run at walls and throw things. During these rages they would now strap her down to her bed. The second was calm. Complete and utter serenity, she would gracefully get from her bed and try to do something, recently they had equipped the room with both writing utensils and painting supplies for her. When she wrote it was in a strange language, and it looked as if she were taking notes, when she painted it was of a strange place, a beautiful place. The third 'phase' was lucid, these were the shortest. Waking with a start, she would talk. Not moving she would speak in the same strange language as she'd been writing. No one was able to translate what she was saying yet, but still they sent after the most exotic translators, hoping that they would be they key to regaining her health.

Anders sighed, opening his 'bag of magic' as she had called it once.

_They were in the Blackmarsh, resting in a burnt down and broken building, once a home. Nate was sitting on the wall, on watch, while Oghren started a small fire and Anders looked after a nasty wound the Commander had received. All during the time, she chatted idly with the dwarf. "You know, one of the reasons I agreed to let in Leliana was because she had to be a better cook than __**him**__," she waved a hand a little, hissing through her teeth as she pulled on her wound._

_Anders slapped the back of her head lightly, cutting off Oghren, "Commander, please, stop moving! It's hard enough to heal you when you refuse to remove your armor completely, with you moving it's worse."_

_Oghren's laugh echoed the commander, "Oh you sound just like Wynne," she whispered softly, her chuckles still vibrating her body. "I spent nearly a year and a half around four men and a lesbian, Anders, I feel the need to keep myself covered now." She glanced over her shoulder at the mage, whose hands were forcing magic to probe through her thick plate armor. _

_A shudder ran through his body as he met those eyes of hers, they were unsettling. They were so pale they seemed white except near the pupil, where they were the slightest shade of blue. "Plus, you've got your bag of magic, you're all good." She added, with a smile, turning her head back to Oghren, who finally spoke._

"_Oh, he couldn't cook for his life! You all asked me why I was drunk all the time? Yeah, I blame his cooking, I had to be drunk or else I'd not be able to eat."_

_Her laugh shook her whole body, Nathaniel sent her a dirty look, that she met without flinching. He seemed to shuffle back. "You may want to quiet down _Commander_," he added the emphasis, "there are still many enemies around—"_

_She scoffed at him, rolling her head to the side, "I took down the sodding Archdemon with worse wounds than these, I can handle a few more werewolves. Hell, I had a huge gash across my throat and I still got that fucker in the eye…"_

Anders watched her sleeping form with a small smile while he remembered that. Checking her temperature with the back of his hand, he wrote it down in the shared journal on the side of her bed that Velanna and himself wrote notes in. And so, he began to write:

_Night 162._

_Temperature has lessened again, sign for another phase. Sleeping again when arrived. Complexion is paler than regular, unmoved since night before. Been six nights since last phase, if the pattern holds, the next should be lucid. _

As the night went on, the man watched his Commander; her body was covered in a loose fitting pair of breeches and tunic, her hair let out of its normal bun, twisted to lay on the pillow like a coil by Velanna's hands. She was thinner than he ever remembered, her skin was beginning to gray from age. They fed her regularly, forcing ground food down her throat, followed by drink.

* * *

Anders felt sleep begging to overcome him when a noise at the door made him jump out of his chair, knocking the pitcher of water at his arm over onto the floor, and throwing the chair to the ground. "H-hello?" He squeaked.

The door opened and one of the young Warden's joined him, it was the dwarf woman. She was darker in skin, her hair a blue black, and eyes a glimmering type of grey. She nodded to Anders, crossing her arms in a bow. She didn't speak often, but she wasn't the type of female dwarf who cut out their tongues to show their faith, or something. Anders knowledge of dwarven customs was limited. The commander once explained to him that the tattoo on her cheek explained she was a 'casteless' one without a place in Orzammar. Worse than a beggar, but no more. Natila Brosca was her name, rescued by the Commander from being executed for something she had no real hand in; the Commander had seen her strength and will. She had mentioned something about something Duncan would do.

"Greetings Ser Mage, there are two at the Gate waiting for you, we were informed not to wake Oghren by his wife, and to come to you instead," she had not real emotion in her voice. Those eyes spoke enough, she respected Oghren's orders.

With a nod, Anders gathered himself from his corner, placing one small spell over the sleeping lady and headed towards the door. "Set up a guard here and a runner, to inform me if she so much as moves."

Brosca nodded and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the keep to inform whom she needed to, as Anders headed towards the Gates.

At the gates, he found two men on horse. The first horse's man was thin and short, an elf. His face was structured like a sculpture, the exotic markings making him stand out. Zevran was back. The man behind him seemed at unease seeing the mage. He could feel the bags under his eyes, but he waved at them as he neared. The man was taller, broad and seemed as if he knew how to use the weapons strapped to his body. Then the chill ran through him. That familiar chill of his mana being touched by an outside force.

The second man was a Templar.

"Ah, dear Mage, you come to great us, which means Oghren as fallen asleep on the table again?" Zevran's accent always seemed to relax the mage, it had a soothing tone to it. It reminded him of one of his mentors at the tower, she had been an immigrant from Antiva who wielded magic and was trapped into the tower. She made her opinions known.

"Actually no, his wife is here and she would probably pluck my eyes out and pop them into her drink as decoration if I woke them," an easy grin lit the mage's face. "Who is this, Zevran?"

The Elf hopped from the horse, the man did the same. As he landed, his hood fell back and something hit Anders in the chest. He looked like one of the men in the paintings the Commander had done recently. Swallowing hard, Anders continued to analyze the man. His hair was short and well cared for, his face smooth other than a little stubble on his cheeks, his jaw was strong and his face nervous. Good.

"This? This is Alistair, the man who will be replacing Emily for now."

The man, Alistair nodded at Anders stiffly. Before looking around. Taking in the look of his Keep? Perhaps, he seemed a good man. "Well… you picked a fine time to get here Zevran, I'll get someone to show you to your chambers, I have to go back to babysitting duty." Anders shot a smile at the elf, who seemed perplexed. He'd explain in the morning.

As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel the stare of the templar on his back, "Tucker!" His voice brought the tall grinning man to him. Russell preferred to be called by his last name, plus, Tucker just fit him better. "Tucker, show them to their rooms please."

The man nodded, and with a smile, led them into the Keep after Anders.


	8. Eight

Lifting the most recent painting the man examined it. It was a grove of sorts with twisted trees and colorful leaves hanging as if it took too much effort to flower, there were ruins there. They seemed as if they were once a gazebo or white marble, now broken and overgrown with green. In the ruins is a man, a man looking oddly like the newest Commander, Alistair was his name. Anders' tried to remember, but sleep boggled his mind. The lost man in the painting seemed to be sad about something, as he was doubled over as if in emotional pain.

A knock on the door startled the mage into dropping the painting loudly to the floor. Swearing colorfully he went to retrieve the piece of art as Velanna let herself in, a bowl in one hand, the other twisting the materials inside with magic. Ander's shuddered, even he found her tree-hugging magic unnerving.

"Oh please, do come in," he muttered, nearly angry as he went to place the painting back.

Apparently she didn't understand sarcasm, "Mm.. thank you." Continuing her way into the room, she took Anders' seat and started talking, still distracted. "I've come up with a new idea, using magic that induces sleep and mixing it with double the amount of a reversal effect. I will feed her some with her next meal. Hopefully it will counter-act whatever she's on."

Rolling his eyes, he held back a sigh, "How do we know she's 'on' something and not 'under' something? Hmm?"

Velanna looked at him for the first time since she walked in, her eyes piercing and uncaring, "Go to bed Anders, you'll be taking care of our newest guests more-so than Oghren, he can barely wipe himself."

Giving in to the bossy woman, Anders exited the room, carefully shutting the door behind him with a deep sigh. Not even a second after the door clicked shut, he heard yelling from a room downstairs. Eyes growing wildly, he threw himself down the stairs towards the noise, following the sound of rage.

"You sodding pike-twirler! I ought to skin you right here! Lemme go, you sodding-"

"Oghren! Please, calm down!" As Anders burst into the room he took in the situation. Alistair was up against a wall, nursing a nasty looking cut on his arm, Zevran was standing where Emily's desk used to be - as it had been relocated to an upside-down position on the furthest wall - trying to serve as a barrier. And Oghren... well Varel and Nate were gripping his arms tightly, nearly heaving him from the carpeted floor. As Felsi tried to quiet her crying babe.

"Hey! Hey!" Anger bubbled in Anders chest, they were making this much noise over a petty squabble while the Commander might be dead? How dare they. "Have you no respect for the Commander?" Alistair rose his head, thinking it was him, "She may be dead and all the noise your making might just stop her heart completely!"

"But this sodding arsehole-"

"Enough!" It was Zevran now, looking the scariest he'd ever seen. "Later, once you've calmed we shall speak on this, Oghren, but not till then. Alistair must get settled."

It took several minutes for the surprisingly strong Varel and lean Nathaniel to haul Oghren off, followed by the wife and child. Tucker stepped into the room as they wrestled him out, a confused smile on his face. "Mage, heal the new Commander's wound, if you would."

Since joining the Warden's Anders seemed to notice everyone took on a name that was not their own. It was like a little inside joke that never got old. Without a reply he headed over to the Templar slowly, healing him from a safe distance. Noticing the flinching the man was making, as if holding back the urge to sap him. "Thank you, Ser Mage..."

"Anders," the blond bowed slightly, keeping his guard up and his eyes on the man.

"Anders..." Alistair seemed to be distant before he shook himself back into reality. "Alright, so... I assume this is my office?"

Tucker took over from there. "Yes, let me escort you through the Keep, Anders, if you need rest, now would be the time to take it."

Exhausted and weak, the mage merely nodded before heading to his rooms, falling asleep the moment his dreary head hit the pillows.

* * *

"Now, if you'll follow me Commander-" Tucker was waving them on and Alistair swallowed hard before clearing his throat.

"Please... just... Alistair, while she is still... alive, she stay Commander." His discomfort with the title rooted from the memories of her leading them. He could almost see her leading the armies they gathered into battle, before reality washed over him. Tucker had cleared his throat.

Waving a hand the man walked them forwards. He led them outside into the courtyards where the bomb master and his brother were bickering over the dents in the new fortification, Tucker explained these things to Alistair as they walked. He led them to the barracks, where the soldiers of Vigil's Keep slept and trained, the houses of the families, and the large garden behind the keep. A man-made pond with fish sat in the center.

As they were being led, Alistair watched the man, he walked with the courage of a warrior, but the lean posture of a rogue. The man also wore armor around his own Keep, Alistair noted these things, wondering if there was a feud between the Grey Wardens and the regular soldiers, but he didn't see it.

Finally, as they finished the tour of the lower stories of the actual Keep, Alistair cracked, "What are you trained as, Ser Tucker?"

The man turned to face him, his face was lightly tanned, strong chiseled jaw with a slightly pointy nose, his eyes a vibrant green and his hair a soft brown. Oddly enough, he laughed. "Well, I'm trained as a rogue, but I fight like a warrior."

The expression he wore must've been ridiculous, because the man began to laugh harder, a rich belly laugh. "I was tossed out when I was a kid, grew up on the streets in Orlais and had to learn how to pick pockets, break locks and such, but once I joined the Order... I decided I needed to learn to fight like a real man." His grinned at Alistair and started walking again.

"...so, this is where you will be staying, you will not be getting the master room, the Commander..." His speech slowly slightly, with regret? "... that is where she stays. These rooms belong to the rest of the Senior Wardens, and the Junior Wardens stay down that hallway there. I suppose you should see the Commander."

Alistair nearly told the man no, but his throat constricted and he felt dizzy, how would he react to seeing her again? Would he fly into a rage like Oghren did? Would he just break down? Stealing himself and taking a deep breath he strode after Tucker, who was opening a large door for him.

He felt as if he was walking into the fade. That's what the paintings struck him as. Swallowing hard, the new commander looked to the elf sitting in a chair, watching something hidden from behind red silk covers. She watched him approach, she spoke to him, but he did not hear.

All he could hear was her voice, singing softly...

_"In the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to bed..."_

_Alistair felt dirty doing this, following her as she struck out into the darkness of the forest towards Lake Calenhad, following the sound of her voice._

_"When the sparrows stop their singing, and the sky is clear and red..."_

_He couldn't help it though, ever since he saw her in the heat of battle in only a nightdress, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight._

_"When the summer ceased it's gleaming, when the corn is past it's prime..."_

_Heat rushed down his body as he remembered the delightful curves of her hips, nearly visible under the soft cotton she had been wearing._

_"When adventures lost it's meaning, I'll be homeward bound in time..."_

_That was when he could see the water, there was little light from the sky that night, it was cloudy but warm. But he could make out her lithe form, stepping out of her armor as easy as if it were silk._

_"Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plow..."_

_Oh, how Alistair wanted to bind her down, and chain her up so she couldn't get away, the dirty thoughts rushing his mind made reel. Since when had he thought like _that_!_

_"Set me free to find my calling, and I'll return to you somehow..."_

_He peered at her from his hidden spot as she stepped into the water, just then the moon broke from the clouds, allowing the former Templar to view her body in all it's glory. Her hips looked so hold-able, her breasts so soft. Alistair was nearly vibrating with desire._

_"If you find it's me you're missing-"_

_Alistair's foot broke a stick as he shifted and she stopped, spinning to look, but the moon's light faded, nearly as fast as Alistair stood and ran back to the camp, her song still lingering in his mind like an idea planted like a vine._

Awaking from his daydreams, the Templar pulled back the sheets to look at the woman he was once in love with.

With a cry of dismay, he jumped back.

That was not his Emily. That was not even human anymore. Her skin was the grayish tinge that the darkspawn wore, her hair thin and fragile.

Turning away, he met Zevran's downcast eyes. His own face green. "Perhaps we should get some work done." Purposefully, Alistair strode from the room, not even noticing himself in nearly each fade-like painting, he didn't care. A swirl of guilt, disgust, and anger drove him to take his new position like the man she'd have wanted him to be.


	9. Nine

_A/N: WELL! Now you know. _

_Also, I want to thank the all the people reviewing and favorite and such.I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am. ;)_

* * *

Everything was purple.

_Odd... I don't remember the sky being purple... _Lifting her head, she tilted it from side to side to see what was going on around her.

She lay in the center courtyard of Castle Highever, grass tickling her wrists and ankles. Her body clothed in a soft cotton dress, her feet bare. Wriggling her toes, shock ran up her spine when the feeling of needles erupted under her skin, causing her to gasp loudly.

A soft laugh touched her ears from her left. Spinning, the woman blinked loudly at the figure, a young boy laying next to her. His hair a soft brown, skin softly sun kissed, a wide grin on his childish features. "You dosed off there, lil' sister."

"F-Fergus?" Her own voice surprised her. And her head was starting to throb, things were not making sense to her.

The boy, her brother, sitting beside her gave her a strong look, "are you alright? You don't look so good, too much sun, hmm?"

Emily bit back her surprise and a smile touched her lips, "I must have fallen asleep.. I'm a little... disoriented..." Running soft, un-caloused fingers through her hair, the girl shuddered. "It felt so real..."

Fergus looked over at his little sister, her little legs poking out of her pink dress. Her odd-blue eyes wide in confusion. So, as all big brothers do, Fergus prodded her in an attempt to bug her.

The banter began then, finally, Emily threw herself at her brother and began poking him back. She was getting the upper hand when two large hands hooked under her arms and lifted her from her older brothers laughing body. Twisting and wiggling, the girl turned to see her father holding her up effortlessly. His light brown hair streaked with grey, his lips turned up into a little smile, his eyes gleaming. "Now, now, pup. Your mother would be quite upset to see you rolling around in your new dress."

Giggling, the little girl got loose from her father, "she'd have to catch me first!"

The clearing of a throat caused the young girl to spin, Eleanor Cousland stood with her arms folded over her chest, and brow's lifted in challenge.

With a squeal, Emily began running from her family. Laughter trailing off behind her as she swerved through to flora in her courtyard. The child kept her eyes on the ground before her, the green-purple grass flew under her bare toes, her breathing coming out in heavy pants. Peering over her shoulder Emily noticed her family was no longer chasing her.

Slowly she decreased her pace, until the soft tickling of grass changed into the hard patter of feet on stone.

Spinning in surprise she double-checked her surroundings, she stood in the center of the great dining hall, those bare feet now clad in too-tight Orlesian styled heeled shoes, those childish chubby legs now longer and more elegant, but covered in a layer of silk or two.

A hand grasped her waist and she gasped in surprise, to find a startled Ser Gilmore staring her in the face. "I apologize my lady, did I scare you?"

Looking out behind Rodrick she noticed all the couples dancing, including her mother and father, and Fergus and his new Antivian wife.

"No.. of course not, I drifted there." Tilting her head up to meet her best friend, she took his offered hand, allowing his other arm to snake around her waist, spinning her in circles to the music.

Rodrick's arms felt warm and soft on her back, his chest strong, his posture structured. Peering up at his face through her lashes, she tried to ignore her teen-aged hormones kicking into gear. His eyes were a striking green, his nose and jaw strong, his mouth in a small smile, his cheeks a bright pink.

"Are you alright? Ser Knight?" Lifting her hand from his shoulder, Emily placed it on his heated cheeks, feeling the pulsing of his blood under her finger tips.

That only made them hotter, "uh... well..." he looked down between the two of him, "I feel this is slightly inappropriate."

Confused, Emily tilted her head and smiled warmly, "and why's that? This is my brother's wedding and I am dancing with a man I trust, how is that wrong?"

Only blushing more, his hands tightened on her, drawing her closer.

They danced, and danced, and danced. Her feet were throbbing and she was nearing the conclusion to remove them when a slightly drunk Ser Gilmore pulled her towards the side entrance into the rest of the castle. Currently shielded from every one's view.

Emily, clinging to his chest, felt him swallow hard before opening his mouth a few times, snapping it shut each time. Before he could hurt his jaw, she lifted herself to her toes and pressed her lips to his, her fingers coming to his face, cradling his jaw in her hands.

When her eyes opened she was staring into the face of a young man with a bright blush on his face, his heavy plate armor shimmering in the fire-light. "I... I hope that wasn't too soon."

Emily took a moment to orient herself, "I think I may need more testing," she whispered as she pressed her lips to his once again, feeling him stiffen through her own plate armor, before his arms greedily wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer. A scoff brought them both back to reality.

The grinning elf was standing, leaning heavily against a tree he waved the dagger in his hand. "As attractive as that is, I must bring you down as camp is packed and we must continue you on, Wardens."

Blushing, the woman grasped Alistair's hand in her own, giving it a tight squeeze. And as she took a step she fell.

Fell through a hole. A hole filled with purple, until she landed hard on the ground, a floating piece of landscape from her past with tainted trees twisting down to grasp her. Breathing deeply, Emily peered around herself, swearing oath after oath. "Why can't I get out of this sodding place!" Her shoulders shifted forward as she screamed into the ground, kicking a twisted tree with her plated boot.

Throwing herself into a rage, Emily began striking at the trees, drawing blood from her hands, teeth tearing a chunk from her lip.

Before she knew it, she was on her back, starring up at the purple sky. Having knocked herself unconscious in her rage.

A laugh, layered with voices sounded from her side and she heaved a groan. "Have you nothing better to do, bitch?"

The purple demon women placed her hands on he hips, the black flame hair licking the horns protruding from her head. "Now, now. I offered you my assistance, yet you deny me. I can get you out of here, for a price."

"Let you into my body, yes, yes. I understand but I am not going to allow it."

"I don't see why not," she checked her nails, before moving over to Emily, kneeling beside her and trailing a finger up her cheek, "all I want is to enter the mortal world, I have no interest in you..."

"You want a mage. Trust me, I know. I've been stuck in the fade before, I just have to find a way out... and kill the demon trapping me here."

The demon heaved a sigh, rubbing her breast for a moment. "I won't give up on you, my sweet, I will get into the mortal world some how.. whither or not you allow me to use you. Good luck finding your way out."

Grunting as the demon disappeared into the ground, Emily hoisted herself to her feet. "Well, fade portal fifty-seven, no go." Rubbing her hands over her eyes, she found the next one, and stepped through.


	10. Ten

_A/N: I promise things will start to pick up soon, drama will ensue and tears will be shed. Not to mention the blood. So much blood..._

_Please R&R._

* * *

Mumbling incoherently, he listened to the sound of his own feet clicking against the stone floor outside the room. It was the one day that the 'officers' as she had once deemed them, were allowed to sit back and relax. But there was no relaxing for Tucker. Russell rubbed his hands over his weary face, before snapping to attention at the sound of movement from inside the room. The female mage's harsh tone monotone as she wrote, watching Commander Cousland as she screamed in rage and moved against the bonds holding her down. Her rages were becoming more frequent and her other periods less.

It had been nearly a week now, since the new commander, Alistair, had arrived. Tucker had seen little of the man, who spent most of his time holed up in an office doing paper-work, or watching the recruits from a distance. He did not eat with the Wardens, he did not speak with the Wardens. Only two people conversed with the new Commander, Zevran and Varel.

Things had been surprisingly easy since he'd shown up, other than keeping him and Oghren separated. And damn could that dwarf throw a punch, Tucker rubbed a tanned hand against his slightly bruised jaw. There was a connection there, between these people. Trying as hard as he could, Tucker could remember some of the Commander's drunken story-telling about her days in the blight.

Could this Alistair be the unnamed knight from her tale? Tucker thought on it, as he paced outside the room. Unlikely, he was too... quiet and sombre, so unlike the man she had described.

The opening of the door startled him back into the present, snapping to attention in front of the weary elven mage. Velanna looked at him, her green eyes oddly sharp, "Your pacing is becoming irritating, please remove yourself from the hall so I may note the process more accurately."

And the door was once again closed.

Heaving a sigh, the rogue warrior left in search of food.

* * *

Alistair felt it as his stomach whined in protest. He tried glaring at his abdomen to make it stop, but that didn't seem to work. He tried telling it to wait, it also didn't work. And so, the new commander, who was nervous in his own keep wandered out into the halls.

He kept his head down, as if he would look up and see her standing there, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed into a tight line, and her brows knotted in the familiar look of disappointment. Was that what he was afraid of? She would awaken and be utterly disappointed in him? Or that she would just simply ignore him, as he had her pleas. His stomach clenched, and then cried out for nourishment.

Turning the last corner before his destination, Alistair rose his head to catch sight with Tucker, who noticed him at the same time. Warm brown met deep green and they both stopped as they regarded each other, Tucker nodded his head and held the kitchen's door open. "After you... Commander."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Alistair stepped through the door, listening as Tucker trailed after him. Silently, Alistair collected food for himself, his gut told him to eat, but his mind was telling him to flee. When Tucker, looking equally torn waved Alistair into a seat, he knew he could not refuse. Taking the seat across from the other man, they began to eat in an awkward silence.

Clearing his throat, Alistair looked up at the other man, his brown hair slightly shagged around his forehead. "So... how did you... meet the commander?"

The wrong question to ask, Tucker's brows furrowed his eyes boring into the table. Alistair shifted uncomfortable as the man spoke. His accent only barely noticeable, "I came with the other Orlesian Wardens who came to welcome Emily into her position. But the keep was attacked by darkspawn. I had been fighting, my brethren all dead, a regular soldier the only man at my side, when she burst into the room, shouting orders at her men. I had been visibly injured, a gash along my chest.

She pulled me from the fray and into the arms of the mage; Anders, who healed me. I was in too much shock to join the fighting. I watched as she... she slaughtered them. They had no chance against her blade."

Alistair nodded at the right times, his eyes now on the fruit on his plate.

"Once they were all dead, she came over to me, eyes gleaming with a smile on her face and asked, 'You alright there, 'hun?' Before helping me to my feet and dragging me along with her to eradicate the rest of them."

"Ah."

"Did you know her, from... before the Archdemon, I mean. She spoke of a man she travelled with," the templar's head popped up, "but she mentioned he was a Qunari..."

Coughing lightly, Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, "Uh, yes we were... um... close."

The man across the table lifted his head, a small grin touching his face, the perfection in his face structure almost made Alistair jealous. Almost. "Do you have any stories about her? I'm sure the men," after a second hesitation he added his afterthought, "and women, would enjoy knowing more. She was always very open with us..."

His brow rose at the offer, before nodded numbly, "I could do that, I did... travel with her for a short period during the Blight."

Tucker gave Alistair a look, a look he couldn't read. Thinking he said too much, his hands flew up to gesture wildly, what would he say? His brain shot out on him.

But the other man only smiled, "Good! We need to keep them reminded about her, lest they forget. She'd be quite angry about that, when she woke up. She may even take personal offense." Tucker's grin spread over his face to touch his eyes, as if he just told an inside joke, "And no one would like that."

Alistair tried to piece it all together, but he just nodded again, the other man stood, bowed and headed out from the kitchen's, leaving a bewildered Alistair to his thoughts and his cheese.


	11. Eleven

"Are you willing to take my offer yet?" It purred near her face, the black flames licking at her curled horns. Those twisted eyes gleaming wickedly while the smile lit her face.

She chose not to waste her breath on responding, that question was starting to irritate her. She mumbled under her breath as she rubbed the back of her neck as it cracked. Rolling her shoulders she pointed to the seemingly endless doors around them. The portals flickering between the twisted trees, each interlocking it's branches with another, creating arches of black tree. In the distance the black city hovered, it seemed as close to reality as she was. A tease.

She felt weak, not 'wow, I'm tired' weak, but 'wow, my body is deteriorating' weak. Flexing her fingers, she felt them tingle with the familiar feeling of a sleeping limb.

The demon laughed a hideously beautiful laugh, "You won't last much longer you know, I can help you, if you help me," she hovered over to the Warden, whose back was up against one of the twisted trees. "I wish entrance to the mortal world, you wish a way out. But, perhaps I could add another... offer?"

Emily couldn't help but lift her weary head, peering up at the demon. White-blue meeting violet. She did not speak, only raising her eyebrow to allow the demon to speak further.

Pointed teeth formed a sinister smile, "You do not have the will to perform magic... I do. If you allow me to... live in your body with you, I will allow you to use my mana—"

"No." Her voice was hoarse but strong. "No. That's wrong."

Scowling, the demon hissed in anger, pushing her form away from the Warden. "You will never find where I reside, cur! You will never get out of this place!"

Laughter exploded from Emily's lips, her voice booming in the empty space. She laughed until she wheezed; the demon still hovered growling at her, her eyes the most intense shade of purple. "You? A lowly desire demon think you can keep me in here?" Dry, cracked lips formed a wicked smile, "I've killed an army of demons higher in the food chain than you, and you think you have a chance?" Her laugh lowered into a dangerous chuckle, "You don't."

"Cur!"

A cloud of smoke exploded where the demon had been only moments before. Even though there was no air current or wind, Emily rose her hands to cover her eyes until it cleared. The smile on her face victorious, her lips felt a little moist, her arms a little less heavy, and her back straightened as she strode into the next door.

* * *

"...and when the Proving Master called her name and introduced her as a Warden all you could hear in the crowds was, 'There is a dwarf in the Wardens?'. She was not happy, she nearly killed her first opponent in anger, because he commented on her height. Afterwards we were having a drink in the Tavern and she slapped the ale down and stood up, nearly knocking over her chair and started yelling, 'Dwarves have NO right to call ME short!'."

The room filled with laughter, knee slaps, and elbow jabs. At the head of the room – and the joke – was Alistair. Sitting on his high-backed chair, the Howe insignia mostly scratched off by what looked like a very dull boot knife. Alistair's cheeks were rosy from laughter and a pint of two of ale in his system. Beside him sat Tucker, who was equally buzzed, his face nearly blue from lack of breath between gasping laughter.

"Well, we all know her, that comment was offensive to someone, and a fight broke out. She was unarmed but that didn't stop her. Know how she knocked him out? She tripped! On her own laces! Spilled her ale in his eyes blinding him and knocked them both on their arses! 'Cept he was on the bottom and hit his head on the floor and blacked out!"

The room was getting rowdier as the story of Orzammar went on. Sitting at the head of the table, Alistair could see the whole room. A twinge of envy was quickly pushed back by more alcohol as he thought of these men and women as _her _soldiers. These were good men, they accepted him as their commander without question without knowing the first thing about him, all because it was what she would have wanted.

'_Too bad I was never that loyal.'_

'_Yeah, too bad. Could have been a bit more than 'the drunk'.'_

He chased the familiar feelings down with another pint.

Soon enough the laughter faded and Alistair felt out of place. Even though a few were still awake and drinking themselves comatose, he left.

Drunk and disoriented the ragged man closed his eyes as he walked through the keep. He placed his hand against the cool, rough stone of the walls, touching a tapestry every now and again. Though blinded, Alistair felt as if he knew where he was going. The cool stone felt good against his calloused hands, thought unlike during the Blight it wasn't because of holding his blade, it was from fist fights and holding a tankard.

Finally, Alistair fell into the room he had been heading too. He didn't hear the mage scramble to his feet and start talking angrily at him.

The acting Commander opened his honey brown eyes as he stumbled towards the veiled bed. His feet dragging along the ground, he realized he had no boots on, and noted it lazily before he stumbled on the carpet into the bed. He clawed his way through the curtains to see her there. In his drunken haze she looked as peaceful and pristine as she always had.

Tears came to his eyes as he blubbered out a little sob, not even speaking words. He touched her face, so numb he couldn't feel how thin it was.

He felt a cool wave roll over his head as his eyes rolled up and his head fell to the pillow, his nose buried into her hair.

That night, he dreamt of her.


End file.
